


Five Ways In Which Vulcans Resemble Cats

by Sita_Z



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Angst and Humor, Christmas, First Time, M/M, Pon Farr, Vulcan Biology, Vulcan Culture, Vulcan Language, Vulcans and Chocolate
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-11 21:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7069954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sita_Z/pseuds/Sita_Z
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Vulcans evolved from felines. Jim Kirk discovers that he is a cat person.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue: Ears

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I re-discovered my first OTP, Kirk/Spock, now with a whole new universe to play with... enjoy!

The first time Jimmy Kirk saw a Vulcan in real life, he was six years old. He had seen them on the holovid and in books before, and thought they looked kind of scary – tall, green-ish and very serious.

The one he saw in real life did not look very scary in comparison. Maybe because the Vulcan was six years old, as well.

“This is Satan,” Miss Rieder told her second-graders. Jimmy stared, as did the rest of the class.

“S’neyatra T’Mur Satan,” Miss Rieder said, and this time she pronounced the name more like Sah-tan. “Vulcans say their clan names first. Sahtan’s parents are staying on Earth for a few weeks to give lectures at the university, and Sahtan’s going to be our guest while they’re here. Say hello, class.”

“Hello,” the class said, although some didn’t join in the chorus, too busy staring at the boy’s strange brown smock, his weird hair, his pale skin. His ears.

“Show the class how Vulcans say hello, Sahtan,” Miss Rieder told the boy, smiling. The kid looked at her as if she’d asked him to stand on his head, then drew himself up and made his face go blank.

“He-lo,” he said to the class, picking his way carefully around the foreign word.

Miss Rieder blinked, but didn’t lose her smile. “Yes, that was very nice. I thought you could show them the Vulcan way of greeting, though.”

The boy’s cheeks went green. “Oh.” Raising his hand, he parted his ring finger and middle finger. “ _Dif-tor heh smusma._ ”

“That means ‘live long and prosper’”, Miss Rieder translated. “We’ll put it on our Language of the Week board later. Sahtan, why don’t you sit down next to Jimmy here.”

“Be-cause you not have told me to,” Sahtan said, looking confused.

“No, I meant… well, never mind, just sit next to Jimmy, okay?” Miss Rieder looked as if she was trying to bite back a laugh. “He can show you what we’ve been doing.”

“Yes, _T’Kehr_ ,” the boy said quietly, and Jimmy moved over to make room at his desk. Sahtan sat down, his hands clutched tightly around his little brown satchel. His face was blank, but privately, Jimmy thought that he looked as if he wanted to be anywhere else but here. Imagining himself in a classroom full of pointy-eared, goggling kids, Jimmy kind of understood.

“Hey,” he said. “You can share my padd. We’re filling in the blanks.”

Sahtan looked at the first picture, under which Jim had written ‘The cat is sleeping’.

“What is this… cat?”

“It’s a pet,” Jimmy said. “An animal. People keep them at home. They’re about this big-” he demonstrated with his hands “-and they’ve got claws and whiskers and catch mice. Well, some of them do. Some just eat cat food.”

“This is… cat, too?” Sahtan was pointing at the next picture.

“No,” Jimmy grinned. “That’s a dog. They’re pets, too, but they’re bigger. Well, some of them are. They don’t eat mice, though. At least I think they don’t.”

He wasn’t doing a very good job of explaining, but Sahtan didn’t comment on it, his eyes still on the pictures of the cat and the dog. “The ears are… dif-ferent, yes?”

Jimmy nodded. “This dog’s got round, floppy ears, and the cat’s got pointy ones.” An image of the Vulcan boy as a kitten in a room full of puppies suddenly entered his head, and he couldn’t hold back a giggle. Sahtan looked startled, as if Jimmy had done something rude like blowing a raspberry.

“Sorry,” Jimmy said. “I’m not laughing at you, honest. I just thought of something funny, is all.”

Sahtan blinked. “I do not… understand.”

Jimmy shook his head. “Never mind. Do you have pets on Vulcan?”

That got them talking about something Sahtan called a ‘sehlat’ – he seemed excited about it (or at least as excited as Vulcan kids were allowed to get), and when he couldn’t quite find the Standard words to explain what it looked like, he drew a picture on Jimmy’s padd. Jimmy thought it looked like a big teddy with fangs, which led them to talking about bears, monsters, and all kinds of things, until Miss Rieder told them to keep filling in the blanks (although she smiled at Jimmy).

At recess, Jimmy sat with Sahtan and Andy, eating their lunches (Sahtan had something he called kreyla, which looked a lot like oatmeal cookies). They’d almost finished when Paul came over. Jimmy scowled at him, knowing there would be trouble.

“Those aren’t real, are they?”

Sahtan tried to duck away, but Paul had already stretched out one grubby hand, grabbed one of the Vulcan boy’s pointy ears and pulled.

Sahtan batted Paul’s hand away. “ _Ri’estuhl nash-veh’r!_ ”

Paul stuck out his tongue. “You’re stupid!”

“You’re stupid,” Jimmy snapped. “Go away, or I’ll pull your ugly doggy ears right off and flush them down the toilet, see if I don’t.”

“I’ll flush you down the toilet,” Paul retorted, but began to retreat at the look on Jimmy’s face. “Stupid jerk, who wants to talk to you anyway.”

Andy and Sahtan watched him go, chewing on their kreyla and peanut butter and jelly sandwich respectively.

“His ears is like yours,” Sahtan pointed out after a while, raising an eyebrow at Jim. “Why do you call them ‘ugly dog ears’?”

Jimmy felt his cheeks grow hot, although he wasn’t quite sure why – Sahtan wasn’t making fun of him, and Andy was too focused on his sandwich to take much notice of anything else.

“Dunno,” he mumbled with a shrug. “It’s just… I kinda like yours.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan phrases:
> 
> T’Kehr: teacher
> 
> Ri’estuhl nash-veh’r: Don’t touch me!
> 
> Sahtan’s not entirely fluent in Standard yet, which made sense to me, with him being only six years old. Little Spock would have been fluent, growing up with a human mother and an ambassador as a father, but to Sahtan, it’s just a second language he learns at school.
> 
> More Spock in the next chapter, I promise!


	2. Eyes

They had been stranded for five days when Jim knew without a doubt that Spock was sick. Not that it was a surprise, really; the continent on which they’d crashed strongly resembled the Russian taiga, the average temperature fluctuating between +5 and -15 degrees Celsius. The shuttle’s damaged controls could no longer be adjusted to heat the pod’s interior, so the nights got cold. Very cold. Jim couldn’t get warm even under two thermoblankets, and he could only imagine how Spock was faring, with a body that was adapted to a desert climate and dry, thin air.

Of course, the Vulcan wouldn’t let on that he felt even the slightest bit of discomfort. They spent their days hunkered over the comm. console, trying to repair the fried circuits so that they could send out a long-distance distress call (Enterprise was in orbit around the fourth planet of the system, after deploying shuttles on ten-day missions to explore the other worlds, all of which were uninhabited and promised to be viable candidates for humanoid colonization). Jim remembered Bones’ misgivings about the Captain and First Officer leaving the ship together – or, as the doctor had put it, “one of your damn fool ideas, Jim” – and secretly regretted not listening to his older friend. The situation wasn’t desperate; at worst, they wouldn’t be able to contact the ship, which meant they’d have to sit out the ten days and wait for Enterprise to come and get them. Still. If Jim had left Spock in command, or assigned him to one of the other away teams, he wouldn’t be marooned on an ice planet with a freezing, miserable Vulcan. And no, the irony of the situation didn’t escape him, although he wasn’t about to point it out to Spock. Even after more than a year, his First never took it well when Delta Vega was mentioned.

“I s-suggest decreasing the intervals between mandatory reports back to the ship,” Spock said, apropos of nothing, distracting Jim from his thoughts.

Jim nodded. “Makes sense. I’ll talk to Command about changing the protocol.”

It was as much as they had spoken in a few hours. There had been brief exchanges about the repairs, but that was it. Now, Jim realized that Spock wasn’t just preserving his strength – he didn’t want the Captain to notice just how badly the cold affected him. He snuck a glance at his First Officer. The Vulcan was bundled up in a thermo-jacket and a scarf, his hands wrapped in strips he’d torn from one of the blankets, with his fingers sticking out so he could handle the small electronic tools. His cheeks and the tips of his ears were glowing a bright green the color of unripe limes. Jim knew that couldn’t be good, even without the subtle tremor of Spock’s hands and the almost-unnoticable sniffles.

He put down the piece of circuitry he’d been working on. “Spock.”

Spock didn’t react.

_“Spock.”_

This time, the Vulcan turned his head to look at him, and Jim involuntarily recoiled with horror. _Spock’s eyes were gone._

“What the hell, Spock?”

“C-captain?”

Spock blinked, his eyebrows drawing together ever so slightly, and Jim realized that what he was seeing weren’t empty eye-sockets. Spock’s eyes were still there, but covered with a thin, greenish membrane that left only a sliver of dark brown visible. It still didn’t look very reassuring.

“Your- eyes… they look infected or something,” Jim said. “Let me get the tricorder…”

Spock shook his head, but before he could reply, an almighty sneeze shook him, and he was left holding a hand in front of his nose.

“I… apologize…”

Jim passed him one of the paper towels they had handy. “No need. Your eyes, though-”

“They are not infected.” Spock’s voice sounded muffled behind the tissue. “What you are seeing is a p-prolaps of the nictitating membrane, quite natural in Vulcans suffering from a minor illness.”

It was the first time Spock had acknowledged that he was suffering from anything.

“Nictitating membrane… you’re saying Vulcans have a third eyelid? Like cats?”

How Spock could still look disapproving with lime-green ears and eyes that reminded Jim of The Exorcist, the Captain did not know.

“A fact that was c-covered in second-semester xenobiology at the Academy, Captain. However, your analogy to Terran housecats is correct, in essentials. Vulcans did, indeed, evolve from our equivalent to Earth’s felines.”

Jim couldn’t suppress a grin at that. “Vulcans evolved from cats? Really?”

“A fact that was also covered by the second-semester curriculum.”

“Yeah, well, I must’ve missed that lecture.” He had, in fact, missed many lectures at the Academy, partly just _because_ , and partly because he’d usually passed the exams anyway. But Spock didn’t need to know that.

“Cats.” Jim chuckled. “I bet Darwin would’ve had an easier time if _The Origin of Species_ had been about humans evolving from cats rather than apes.” (He hadn’t missed _all_ of his lectures).

Spock raised an eyebrow. “Why is that?”

“Well… cats are cooler than monkeys.”

“Illogical,” was Spock’s predictable comment on that statement. “In fact, _T’Kehr_ T’Lyr was attacked quite viciously when she first presented her theory of evolution to the Science Consulate – in pre-Surakian times, of course.”

“So Vulcans had their own creationist debate,” Jim said. “How about that.”

Spock’s reply was drowned by another sneeze, which returned Jim’s attention to the problem at hand. “Can you even see anything like that?”

“My v-vision is indeed affected to a considerable degree,” Spock muttered, which Jim translated as ‘I can’t see shit’ in Vulcan-speak.

“That’s it, then, Mr. Spock. No more repair work for you.” He nodded at the pull-out bunk at the back of the shuttle. “Go lie down. I’ve got this.”

“I could still be of assistance-”

“Quite frankly, Spock, I don’t think so,” Jim said, plucking the hypospanner from Spock’s trembling fingers. “Go get some rest. That’s an order.”

He didn’t like pulling rank with Spock, but the last fourteen months had taught him how stubborn the Vulcan could be, particularly when it came to matters of health. Bones had used his authority as CMO more than once to order an injured Spock off the bridge and to sickbay to get treatment.

Spock didn’t argue, an indication of how miserable he really was. He got to his feet, his movements heavier than usual, and made his way to the bunk bed. Jim watched him long enough to make sure the Vulcan actually lay down, then turned back to his repairs, hopeless as they were. The way things looked, another five days’ stay on the planet’s freezing surface seemed inevitable. Unless Uhura, who was in command, tried to contact them for some reason and wondered why she got nothing but white noise in response. As so often, Spock was right – it did seem sensible for away teams to call the ship at more regular intervals. Yet another incident of learning-by-doing, Jim thought ruefully. His command career seemed to feature many of those.

An hour later, Jim dropped the hypospanner and gave the repairs up as a bad job. The electronics were fried, no matter how much he tinkered with them. He might be able to use some of the innards of the weapons console to replace the damaged units, but not today. The planet’s sun had set an hour ago, and the cold was creeping into his limbs, making his fingers feel raw and numb. Outside, the wind was howling across the veld, flattening the few low scrubs that had survived the rough climate.

Nothing much to do but get some sleep himself. As he got to his feet, he noticed that Spock had bundled himself up so that only a few strands of dark hair were sticking out. It didn’t seem to help much, from the way the Vulcan was shivering violently. Jim thought he could hear his teeth chatter, muffled by the layers of blankets.

“Spock.” He knelt down next to the bunk. “Spock, you okay?”

When there was no reply, Jim tugged at the blankets that covered Spock’s face. “Spock-”

The Vulcan looked horrible. His face was white save for two dark green spots on his cheekbones, his forehead gleaming with sweat. The strange membranes still covered his eyes, only now they seemed more swollen than before.

“Okay, that’s it.” Jim got to his feet. He had thought about doing this before, but had avoided it so far, knowing that it would make Spock terribly uncomfortable. Another part of him, a part Jim preferred to ignore most of the time, reminded him that it wasn’t the only reason – there was also the fact that what he was about to do would bring him very close to his First Officer. Close enough, indeed, for the perceptive Vulcan to notice that his Captain was enjoying himself perhaps a little too much, that touching that pale, flawless skin had featured in some of his more secret fantasies…

Jim squashed the thought. It was the logical course of action, and Spock would be the first to admit that logic had to take precedence, especially where the well-being of a subordinate was concerned.

He began to strip off, shivering as the cool air hit his exposed skin. His clothes went on the floor next to the bunk, where he could easily grab them later.

When he was in nothing but his boxers and socks, he grabbed the two thermo-blankets Spock hadn’t appropriated yet, and nudged the shivering bundle on the bunk.  
“Move over, Mr. Spock.”

Spock’s face emerged from his self-created cocoon, those membrane-covered eyes looking creepy as hell. “C-captain… why are y-you undressed?”

“Fourth-semester survival training at the Academy,” Jim replied with a small grin. “Sharing body heat is an effective method of treating moderate cases of hypothermia. Now budge up.”

From what Jim could tell, Spock didn’t look happy. “C-captain… I don’t think this is n-necessary…”

“I disagree, Mr. Spock.” Jim strove for a formal tone of voice. “You’re clearly suffering from the cold, and if I remember Bones correctly, humans have a higher body temperature than Vulcans. It’s only logical that I use my natural resources to prevent your condition from getting worse.”

He was quite proud of his reasoning, even more so when Spock clearly couldn’t combat the logic behind it. “I d-do not wish to inconvenience you…”

“I was going to turn in for the night anyway,” Jim said. “It’s no inconvenience.”

Far from it, that secret part of him thought before he could stop it. Bones would call him a perv, but that didn’t change the fact that Spock did, indeed, need the heat to get better (or at least not worse). If his Captain was battling illogical feelings of attraction while providing it, that was Jim’s problem and no one else’s.

He crawled on the bunk and stretched out. Spock had done a thorough job of wrapping himself up, and seemed reluctant to give up his blankets when Jim tugged at them.

“Spock, sharing body heat means skin on skin. You’ll need to let me in there.”

Spock said nothing, but his grip on the blankets lessened slightly. Jim took the chance before the Vulcan could change his mind and quickly slipped under the blankets. The first thing he noticed was how cold Spock felt. He remembered Bones mentioning that the normal Vulcan body temperature fluctuated between 30 and 32 degrees Celsius, depending on environment, age and physical condition. Spock’s current temperature had probably dropped below that.

Jim drew the cool body closer so that he and Spock came to lie back to stomach, and wrapped his arms around the shivering man. To provide the maximum amount of heat, he thought determinedly, refusing the let the word ‘spooning’ slip in there. Nor did he pay attention to the feeling of hard muscles under his hands, the slightly bergamot smell of Spock’s hair, glossy even after five days without a shower, or the firm, round buttocks pressing into his groin…

Jim quickly scooted back a little bit to minimize contact down there. It was the last thing he needed for his First Officer to feel the evidence of his inappropriate interest.  
It did seem as if the body heat he emanated was doing some good. Spock’s shivering lessened somewhat as the minutes passed by, and some of the tension left his muscles.

“Well,” Jim said, when the awkward silence had stretched too long for him to endure, “we better not tell Uhura about this.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but Spock evidently didn’t take it as one. “I do not understand.”

Jim cursed his smart mouth. “Never mind. Just kidding.”

Spock was silent for a while, and Jim hoped he was going to let it go. Then, “If you are concerned that Lieutenant Uhura would disapprove of my sharing close physical contact with you because of her and my… involvement, I should point out that such objections no longer apply.”

It took a moment for Jim to pick that sentence apart. “Meaning, you broke up?”

“We mutually agreed that terminating our relationship would be for the best, yes.”

Jim wanted to ask at least a dozen questions, but he knew that it wouldn’t be appreciated, and quite frankly, the whys and wherefores were none of his business. “I’m sorry,” he said instead.

He expected Spock to point out that apologies were illogical as Jim had nothing to do with the break-up, but Spock surprised him. “Appreciated but unnecessary, Captain. As I said, it is for the best, given the circumstances.”

_What circumstances?_ The question sat on the tip of his tongue, but Jim kept it to himself. He knew Spock to be a very private person, and didn’t want to push his luck – especially not when he was basically cuddling up to the man.

In the meantime, Spock’s trembling had almost abated, his breathing slowing down. His heartbeat still felt like a woodpecker gone crazy under Jim’s hands, but that was normal – Vulcan hearts beat about 265 times a minute.

“Feeling better, Spock?”

“The warmth is indeed… agreeable…”

Spock’s voice was slurred, and Jim realized that the man was about to drop off. Instead of giving a reply, Jim drew him closer so that his chest brushed against the Vulcan’s back. A glance over Spock’s shoulder confirmed what he’d suspected: Spock’s eyes were closed, those membrane things thankfully out of sight.

Jim yawned. He was beginning to feel drowsy himself, and knew it wouldn’t be long until he, too, fell asleep. He knew that this wasn’t going to be something ever mentioned between them once they were back on the ship, but right now, he didn’t care, and Spock, quite obviously, was dead to the world. That was another thing Vulcans had in common with cats: When they slept, there was very little that could disturb them.


	3. Names

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> “Cats must have three names--an everyday name; a more particular, dignified name; and, thirdly, the name the cat thinks up for himself, his deep and inscrutable singular Name.”
> 
> T.S. Eliot

Before he became Captain of the Enterprise, Jim Kirk had never been one to join clubs. He’d been on the baseball team in high school, mostly because some extracurricular activity was mandatory, but he’d never warmed to the whole “regular attendance” thing, just like he’d never warmed to school as a whole. He’d been one of the kids caught smoking in the mall when they were supposed to be in homeroom – not that anyone had given a damn, least of all Frank, who didn’t answer the comm on principle when the school’s number showed up on the screen.

At the Academy, clubs ranged from three-dimensional chess to the Orion equivalent of _ikebana_. He’d joined some of those at one point or another – some because they sounded interesting, and some because there was a particular club member that had caught his eye. His participation was never long-lived. It wasn’t that he lost interest so quickly (although he often did); but more to the point, there was some inherent part of him that didn’t like being tied down, being subject to rules and a schedule that mostly existed for their own sake. Clubs were just _not his thing_.

After his promotion, he quickly learned that the luxury of avoiding social obligations was not extended to the captain of a starship that housed 428 people in close quarters. Clubs and teams were necessary to give people a sense of stability, a counterbalance, a feeling of belonging and many other things Starfleet psychologists got misty-eyed over.

And the command crew had to set an example. So, Jim joined the chess club (where he wouldn’t have been seen dead in high school), Sulu’s fencing classes and Lieutenant Hannity’s Cultural Exchange Group. The last one had sounded a bit… dry when it had first shown up on the common bulletin board, but there was the intriguing fact, mentioned casually at lunch one day, that Spock was an active member. (He was a member of the chess club, too, but that was to be expected, him being some kind of Academy champion or something).

Jim wasn’t stalking his First Officer. It was coincidence that they’d ended up pursuing the same off-duty social activities. Besides, as a budding interplanetary diplomat he’d better brush up on his intercultural knowledge – Uhura had given him the stink-eye more than once during meetings with alien delegates. If he was interested in learning more about non-Terran cultures, and Spock happened to be in the very group that did exactly that, so be it.

To his surprise, he discovered that he was actually beginning to enjoy their weekly sessions. They met on Wednesday at 1900 in a small rec lounge that was scattered with comfy chairs and couches, and more often than not, someone brought replicated drinks and snack food from their homeworld, to be shared during their discussions. Jim enjoyed spending time with the non-human crewmembers, many of which seemed to have found a small haven in a community where everyone represented a minority. Although not all members attended every meeting, so far Jim had seen the two Andorians from Security, a Deltan ensign who worked in Maintenance, a Tellarite lieutenant from the Astronomy lab, a Rhaandarite yeoman and Gaila (with whom Jim had reached a tense understanding that was based on him being very polite and her not mentioning what an asshole he’d been to her).

Lieutenant Hannity – Teresa, as she’d introduced herself at their first meeting – was a good host. She had a knack of including newcomers, making sure boundaries were respected, and had even installed a separate message board where group members could post ideas for future discussions. Jim had not contributed any subjects so far – he didn’t want to come across too Captain-ish, making everyone feel as if they were obliged to use his ideas, and besides, most of the topics that came to his mind had to do with his not-quite-professional interest in everything Vulcan. He didn’t want to put his First Officer on the spot.

When Jim checked the message board and found that the upcoming discussion was going to be about names and naming rituals, he wasn’t too excited. They had talked about taboos last time, which had resulted in a heated discussion and a ton of information that Jim just knew was going to prove useful at some point. He had had no idea that most Andorians considered it a big no-no to talk about body hair of any kind (Ensign Shern explained that Andorian races were identifiable by their hair color, which had been the source of much discrimination and violence in the past), or that Deltans found singing in public to be extremely embarrassing and distasteful, much like a human would react if someone took a dump in the middle of the messhall. That explained why Ensign Aiuri had left so quickly when Uhura had given one of her impromptu performances in the rec room. Spock hadn’t said too much on Vulcan taboos (typical, Jim thought, that talking about taboos would be taboo itself to Vulcans), but it seemed that most of them were about touching and, surprise surprise, sexuality. Jim would have liked nothing more than to hear more about that – hell, even ‘what is the Vulcan equivalent of asking someone on a date’ would have been more than the database yielded (yes, he had checked) – but Spock clearly indicated that he wasn’t going to go into any details.

In comparison, naming customs seemed pretty tame to Jim. He even considered skipping this week’s meeting and catching up on his piles of paperwork, but then he happened to have dinner with Spock after their shift, and it only seemed natural that they would walk to the rec lounge together afterwards. By the time they’d arrived there, Jim couldn’t really excuse himself anymore, and so he simply followed Spock inside. Teresa was already there, as were Shern and Gaila. They were placing bowls of what looked like blue fortune cookies on every available surface – the snack of the week, it seemed.

Lieutenant Hannity smiled at them. “Captain, Commander Spock. Good to see you, sirs. Gaila’s replicated Orion _s’kaagh_ for us today.”

Jim was still full from dinner, but of course he took one of the blue things and put it in his mouth, determined not to let on even if it tasted like old socks. Gaila watched him as he chewed. It wasn’t bad, really, just a little stale and rubbery for his tastes.

Jim gave her a smile that (he hoped) didn’t turn out too apologetic. “These are great.”

“Most humans don’t like them too much,” she replied, with just a touch of asperity in her voice.

Which was, of course, how Jim ended up with a large handful of blue cookies, which he munched on with determination as one by one, more people trickled in and took their seats. When everyone was settled, Lieutenant Hannity began, passing one of Gaila’s cookie bowls around as she spoke.

“Welcome to this week’s meeting, and special thanks to Gaila for bringing snacks. They’re lovely.”

Everyone mumbled in agreement, except for Lieutenant Gav, who tossed one of the cookies on the floor and grunted (this, as Jim had learned, was the proper Tellarite praise-by-insult to an offer of food).

“Our subject today was suggested by Commander Spock,” Lieutenant Hannity said.

Spock bowed his head in polite agreement, ignoring Jim’s look of surprise. Spock took an active part in the discussions, but had never suggested a topic so far. “Maybe you’d like to start by telling us about Vulcan naming customs.”

Spock opened his mouth, but was interrupted by Gav, who growled impatiently. “No! Why should the Vulcan start just because he came up with an original idea for once! I will start so you imbeciles won’t leave here as ignorant of Tellarite customs as you obviously are now!”

Spock raised an eyebrow. “If the Tellarite thinks his unimportant contribution should be heard first, I believe it best to sit through his insipid drivel and be done with it.”

Gav’s nostrils flared proudly at Spock’s ritual insult-in-reply and the implied compliment. “Are you still talking, Vulcan? Shut your mouth and listen so you may learn something for once!”

They did learn a lot – apparently, young Tellarites didn’t receive their names for the first four sun-cycles of their lives, during which time their parents only referred to them as ‘that ugly baby’ and ‘the bane of our existence’. To do otherwise, Gav said, would be bad luck. “That’s what our idiotic ancestors used to believe, the primitive morons,” he added. “We don’t tolerate such superstitious nonsense today. Somehow the custom has stuck, though.”

“It’s the same with Andorian naming rituals,” Shern said. “They come from a time when only every other child survived the storm season. Young ones are given a child-name when they are born, which is used for the first eight years of their lives. Then, when they reach puberty, they pick a youth-name, which is changed again after they’ve gone through the _machqrin_ and are ready to pick mates from another clan.”

“How uninteresting,” Gav grumbled. Shern flicked his antennae in a gesture of appreciation.

“Some human names have diminutive forms for children,” Lieutenant Hannity said. “The Captain, for instance, might have been ‘Jimmy’ when he was young.”

Jim grinned and nodded. “My grandma still calls me that.”

“Why do you go by ‘Jim’ when your given name is ‘James’?” Gaila wanted to know. Jim was relieved when he detected no hostility in her tone this time. She seemed genuinely interested. “One of my classmates at the Academy was called William, and he went by ‘Bill’. Is it like a secret code?”

Jim shook his head. “No, it’s…” Not for the first time, he discovered how hard it was to explain things that seemed obvious to him. “I guess it’s a way to express affection. ‘James’ sounds very formal, but ‘Jim’ would only be used in informal situations, by friends, family and…” He’d been about to say ‘significant others’, but suddenly was very aware of how insistent he’d been that Spock call him ‘Jim’. “And… you know,” he finished somewhat lamely.

“The same seems to be true for so-called nicknames,” Spock said. If he had noticed Jim’s sudden pause, then he didn’t let on about it. “Like the Captain referring to Dr. McCoy as an accumulation of osseous matter.”

Jim was glad Bones hadn’t been here to hear that. “I don’t suppose Vulcans have nicknames,” he said lightly.

Spock tilted his head. “Not as such. Vulcans do carry several names with different social and personal implications, however.”

That piqued Jim’s interest. “Really? Your name’s not just Spock?”

“Indeed not, Captain. Vulcans traditionally have three names. One is generally rather short and used in everyday conversation-”

“Like Spock, or T’Kir?” Ensign Aiuri asked. T’Kir, Jim remembered, was the name of the only other Vulcan on the Enterprise, an Ensign in the Operations Division.  
.  
“Yes,” Spock said. “Names beginning with an S are chosen for male children to honor Surak, and the prefix T’ used to signify clan affiliation in the times of the Matriarchs.”

“What are the other two names, then?” Jim asked.

“There is another name that Vulcans use in formal, dignified situations, like ceremonies or legal proceedings.”

_“Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular/ Or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?”_ muttered Teresa Hannity with a small grin, obviously quoting something.

Spock raised an eyebrow at her. “I beg your pardon, Lieutenant?”

She straightened her face. “Sorry, Commander. Go on.”

“This name also signifies archaic clan affiliation and traces the Vulcan’s ancestry back to a relative who witnessed the Time of Surak. It is as such a combination of ancient and post-Reform traditions.”

“What is yours, sir?” Gaila asked, anticipating Jim’s next question.

“S’chn T’Gai,” Spock replied. “S’chn, according to our Clan Scrolls, was a member of the Circle of Surak. T’Gai was the name my clan bore in ancient times.”

“S’chn T’Gai,” Jim repeated. His pronunciation wasn’t too far off the mark, he thought, but there was room for improvement, especially with the harsh combination of consonants at the beginning that didn’t seem designed to be uttered by human throats. “So that’s your last name, so to speak.”

“In human terms, yes,” Spock said. “It is not used in everyday situations like human surnames, however.”

“And the third name?” Jim asked. “Another clan thing?” Vulcans, he had learned, were nothing if not family-oriented.

“No,” Spock said, and this time he seemed somewhat reluctant, like the time when the talk had turned to Vulcan taboos. “It is… a personal matter.”

“It’s not as if we want to know,” Lieutenant Gav rumbled from his chair, tossing back a handful of blue cookies. “Vulcans are so proud of their secrets. Ha!”

Spock acknowledged the gesture of support with a slight nod. “It is indeed, as you say, a ‘secret’. A Vulcan’s Third Name is known only to themselves and sometimes one other person.”

“How do you come by it?” Jim asked, even more intrigued now than before. “When it’s only known to yourself?”

“A Vulcan chooses his or her Third Name at a significant point in life. It may be after the _kahs-wan_ ritual, or after his or her formal bonding. Some choose their name when their first child is born, or when they have accomplished something important to them. A Vulcan knows when the time has come.”

“And what kind of name is it?” Jim asked, only just stopping himself from asking the thing he really wanted to know. “Do you just make it up, or…”

“That,” Spock said gravely, “I cannot tell you. It is the nature of the name to remain unspoken, to be given as a gift to one person only.”

“You mean, to a lover?” Ensign Aiuri asked, obviously charmed by the idea.

“It may be a lover,” Spock said, “a spouse, or a very close friend. Generally, a Vulcan gives it only to their _t’hy’la_.”

Jim had encountered that word before, and the recognition struck him like a physical force. A very old Vulcan in a freezing cave on an ice planet had introduced it to him.

_T’hy’la._

He didn’t really listen to the discussion after that, how Spock elegantly changed the subject, or how Gaila explained about Orion naming rituals that involved five days of fasting and five days of feasting. Shern got into a discussion with Gav about discerning between male and female names, a custom that didn’t seem to exist in Andorian culture, but Jim couldn’t be sure quite what they were arguing about. His mind was entirely occupied with what he’d learned, the t’hy’la thing and the fact that Spock had a mysterious secret name that no one knew (at least Jim hoped no one did). He knew he was going to obsess over this, just like, if he was being honest with himself, he’d been obsessing over his First Officer ever since the Shuttle Incident, as Jim had come to think of it. They had been rescued a couple of days later, Bones had dragged Spock to sickbay, put him under some kind of heat lamp and grumbled about crazy hobgoblin physiology and not being a lizard doctor, and that had been that. No one seemed to realize that the Captain couldn’t stop thinking about those hours he’d spent warming up his very Vulcan First Officer, or how good they’d felt, lying there touching like that. How right.

Old Spock hadn’t shown him everything in his mind, not by far, but Jim was willing to bet almost anything that this Spock and ‘his Jim’, as he thought of him, had done quite a bit of touching, and more. He’d seen it deep in the old Vulcan’s mind, the love and desire Old Spock felt even for a young, not-quite-so-morally-grounded version of Jim Kirk that he had never met before.

And now there was Spock’s Mysterious Third Name, and Jim just knew that he wouldn’t be able to let it rest. Couldn’t. Just like he couldn’t let the Kobayashi Maru thing alone, back in the day. And Spock hadn’t reacted well to that, either.

When the meeting was over, Jim and Spock walked back to their quarters, each lost in their own thoughts. Spock bid him an absentminded ‘Good night, Captain’, and had almost disappeared into his quarters when Jim hit the button that would stop his door from closing.

“Spock,” he said. The question was there, as if he’d spoken it aloud, and Spock knew it. Jim could see that he did.

After a moment’s silence, that eyebrow was raised at him, perhaps a little more archly than usual. “A fascinating discussion,” was all Spock said, inscrutable mask perfectly in place. “I shall see you in the morning… Jim.”

And that was that. The door closed, and Jim was left standing the corridor knowing that yes, Spock knew, and yes, Spock had done it deliberately, the name thing, the private information he had given ostensibly as an exercise in cultural exchange.

Jim narrowed his eyes at the unmoving bulkhead. Never let it be said that James Kirk backed down from a challenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lieutenant Hannity is quoting The Naming of Cats by T.S.Eliot:
> 
> http://famouspoetsandpoems.com/poets/t__s__eliot/poems/15121


	4. Catnip

“You’re making googly eyes at the hobgoblin,” Bones said, apropos of nothing.

Jim dropped the slice of pepperoni pizza he’d been about to bite into. It landed on his front – tomato-y side down – and slid down a bit, leaving a trail of red and grease on his shirt.

“Smooth,” Bones commented, biting into his own slice of Hawaiian pizza.

“What the fuck, Bones?” Jim gathered up the pizza and transferred it back to the plate, then looked around for something to get the worst of the mess off. Bones tossed him a pack of disinfectant wipes from his desk.

Glaring, Jim began to dab at his shirt. It didn’t help much. “Why would you say that?”

“’Cause it’s true,” Bones said with a shrug. “And I’m not the only one who noticed. Just thought I’d let you know, as a friend and all.”

“What – who else – I mean, I’m not making ‘googly eyes’ at anyone! What am I, twelve?”

“Might as well be.” Bones took another bite. “Like I said, it’s obvious. Christine mentioned it the other day, too.”

“What, you’re gossiping about me with your staff now?”

Bones rolled his eyes. “Everyone’s gossiping about everyone on this ship, kid. You know that. You’re avoiding the subject.”

“Christine said I was making googly eyes?” Jim asked, disbelievingly.

Bones shook his head. “Naw. She thinks it’s ‘so romantic’, the way you lurk around in sickbay whenever the hobgoblin’s sick. Like you did before I kicked him out two days ago.”

Jim’s cheeks felt warm all of a sudden. “I was just checking on him. I’m the Captain, it’s part of my-”

Bones snorted. “You didn’t check on Sulu every few hours when he got Denobulan measles, or Scotty when he fell off that platform.”

“Getting stuck with a poisoned spear is worse than measles or falling off a platform in Engineering!”

Bones picked up another slice of Hawaiian, raising his eyebrow at Jim. “No need to get defensive. I’m just sayin’.”

Scowling, Jim snatched up a piece of his own pizza so he wouldn’t have to look at his friend. Okay, so he went to see Spock in sickbay. He’d do – he did – the same for every other crewmember who was injured in the line of duty. It was just that Spock had the unfortunate tendency to get injured quite frequently, perhaps because he considered it his duty to throw himself in the line of fire when an unfriendly alien aimed a spear dripping with nerve poison at the Captain. The spear had embedded itself in the Vulcan’s arm, and Spock had keeled over, his body shaking with seizures, green blood spreading fast and scaring Jim half to death. It didn’t help that Bones told him the poison would have killed a human within seconds, or that Spock considered his actions ‘merely logical’. Screw that. It was not okay for Spock to get speared, and it was not okay for him to lie in sickbay, his face an unhealthy yellow-ish color, hooked up to an IV because the damn poison prevented the blood from clotting like it should. And when he finally got better, it was not okay for him to lie there and get bored and think that Jim didn’t care that his First Officer would endanger his own life so willingly to save that of his Captain. So of course Jim had to be there to yell at him, sit with him, play chess with him and bring him replicated _kreyla_ to see that smile that Spock did without moving a single facial muscle.

Jim determinedly did not look at Bones. “So, what if I was interested in getting to him a little better? Is that a crime?”

“No…” Bones drawled the word in that way he had when he was about to say something Jim wouldn’t like. “It’s just… have you thought about this, Jim? He is a Vulcan, not a human with pointy ears and a few social issues.”

Jim narrowed his eyes slightly. “I’m not an idiot, Bones. I know he might not…”

Might not even understand. Might think Jim’s actions the height of illogic and an unforgivable intrusion of privacy. But then, he had been with Uhura, hadn’t he, in some way or other. And he had challenged Jim – and Jim knew a challenge when it was issued – to find out his Mysterious Third Name. A name Vulcans only told to someone very special.

“I’m just looking out for you, kid,” Bones said quietly.

“I know,” Jim said. And wondered if Spock would come to the Christmas party if Jim sold it to him as a measure of boosting crew morale. Or perhaps an exercise in observing human culture from an anthropological point of view. Either one might work; the combination probably made for a pretty convincing ‘logical’ argument.  
Jim was getting pretty good at those.

###

Spock did come to the Christmas party – Holiday party, Jim corrected himself. Although it had turned out rather Christmas-y, despite Lieutenant Hannity’s efforts to include symbols and rituals from other traditions (Earth and alien). But there was a Christmas tree, there were garlands, there was mistletoe and a Secret Santa and punch. Lots of punch. A little too much punch, in some cases, but Jim was going to look the other way as long as didn’t get out of hand. For many human members of the crew, being away from home at this time was particularly hard.

Convincing Spock to come to the party had turned out to be easier than expected. Jim had carefully planned how and when he was going to ask – in his quarters, after Spock had won one of their chess games, with no one else around to witness the exchange. He’d started out by mentioning the low crew morale after several months without shore leave. Spock pointed out that most human crewmembers seemed to be looking forward to ‘the annual Terran celebration of Yuletide’. Jim (in a sneaky move, if he said so himself) wondered if perhaps a big Holiday party would improve the general mood, with the senior staff in attendance to set a good example. Spock conceded that it might. And so, quite logically, the First Officer found himself agreeing to participate in yet another frivolous human tradition, ‘for the benefit of the crew’. Jim had to work hard to keep a triumphant grin off his face. His genius amazed even himself sometimes.

Spock showed up on time as usual – not, as Jim had expected, in his dress uniform, but in black pants and a dark brown sweater of decidedly human cut. For a second or two, Jim found himself unable not to stare – those pants hugged a certain part of the Vulcan’s anatomy very nicely.

“Gonna play us a tune, Mr. Spock?” Scotty asked, and only then did Jim notice the lyre Spock carried in a linen bag slung over his shoulder. He had played it once or twice in the rec room, and Jim had always enjoyed the soft, hauntingly beautiful melodies.

“If the opportunity arises,” Spock replied, sitting down at the table the senior staff had appropriated for themselves. “I was given to understand that music is an essential part of the Christmas tradition.”

“It is,” Jim said, smiling broadly. He couldn’t quite believe that Spock had not only come, but was trying to actively contribute to the festive mood. “I’m glad you could make the time, Spock.”

“Of course, Captain.” Spock raised an eyebrow. “It is only logical that crew morale should be one of the First Officer’s chief concerns.”

Jim could have sworn he’d heard a teasing undertone in Spock’s voice, but with that Vulcan poker face, it was hard to tell. At that moment, Bones plopped down on the chair next to Spock’s, effectively putting an end to any subtle Vulcan flirting that might have been going on.

“Getting into the Christmas spirit, Spock?” the doctor asked, raising an eyebrow in an almost Vulcan manner. “Well, color me shocked.”

Jim glared at him, but Spock seemed to take the doctor’s needling in stride. “Another holiday custom, doctor? I was not aware body-painting was part of the Yuletide tradition.”

Bones’ lips twitched, although he pretended to scowl at the Vulcan. “Cute, Spock. You feeling up to all this illogical merry-making?”

At this, Jim remembered that Spock was officially still on light duty – officially, since the Vulcan simply ignored the doctor’s orders to rest, and disappeared to the science labs whenever Jim ordered him off the bridge.

“I assure you, doctor, that I am in good health,” Spock said. “Your concern is unnecessary.”

“If you say so, _Dr._ Spock,” McCoy grumbled, but let the matter rest.

In the meantime, a group of people had assembled in a corner of the rec room next to the Christmas tree (a real fir that had been dragged up from the arboretum). Most of them were human, but Jim recognized Shern standing between two ensigns from Engineering.

“Spock!” Uhura waved at him from across the room. “You going to join us?”

Jim expected Spock to politely decline, and was surprised when the Vulcan took his instrument out of its casing and went to sit with the carolers. He couldn’t quite suppress a twinge of jealousy at how easily Uhura could convince Spock to join them. It was childish, but there it was. The fact that she looked radiant in her flowing print dress and elaborate hairdo didn’t help, either.

Spock plucked the lute’s strings, tuning his instrument. When the singers began to intone the first notes of ‘Silent Night’, Jim couldn’t take his eyes off him. Those long fingers danced across the instrument’s strings, the soft notes perfectly in tune with the carol and at the same time adding a foreign element to the familiar song, something that spoke of desert plains and harsh red sands and a world that no longer was. Spock didn’t look at his lyre or the humans whom he was accompanying, but seemed far away, staring at something only he could see.

Everyone applauded as the song ended. Jim joined the clapping, smiling at Spock and feeling his heart beat faster when a slanted eyebrow was raised at him in response. Spock stayed with the group for two more carols, but excused himself when the singers agreed to perform ‘Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer’ next.

“I am unfamiliar with the tune,” Jim heard him say to Uhura. While that was very likely true, Jim knew that the Vulcan could accompany any song in perfect harmony after hearing a few notes. Uhura must know, too, but she simply nodded.

Spock came back to the table, stowing his instrument carefully in its bag. His face was blank, but Jim felt that his mood (much as Spock would deny any such ‘illogical’ notions) had changed into something more somber.

“That was beautiful,” he said, quietly enough so that only Spock could hear him.

The Vulcan met his eyes, and hesitated a moment before he replied softly, “I used to accompany my mother when she sang carols. ‘Silent Night’ was the first tune she taught me.”

Jim’s chest constricted at the deeply personal information Spock had shared with him. The image of a little Vulcan boy playing the lute while a human woman sang carols came to him, and he felt more guilty than ever before, remembering that awful scene on the bridge and the raw hurt he’d sensed beneath Spock’s anger.

“I’m so sorry,” he said before he could think.

Spock looked at him, an eyebrow twitching. “As was my father, I believe. My _ka’athyra_ skills weren’t as advanced then as they are now.”

Jim let out a startled laugh. Spock had actually made a joke, just when Jim had painted himself into a conversational corner, something he wouldn’t have believed possible only a year ago. But here Spock was, those dark eyes glinting in amusement, even though his face was as impassive as ever.

Once more, the moment was interrupted by Bones, who returned to the table carrying a tray laden with earthenware cups.

“Blood Orange punch, anyone?”

Jim took one of the steaming containers and sniffed. The beverage had a heady citrus scent with a strong note of cinnamon and something else that didn’t quite seem to belong. “Did someone spike it with vodka again?” Jim asked.

“No, Keptin,” Chekov said, his ears flushing red. “Who vould do that?”

Jim narrowed his eyes at him. “One cup,” he said. “Don’t let me catch you having more.”

He’d never expected having to play dad to under-age crewmembers when he took this job.

Chekov’s flush spread to his face, making him look even younger than his seventeen years. “Of course not, Keptin.”

Spock picked up the cup Bones had set in front of him, sniffing the contents. “There is no ethyl alcohol in this beverage,” he commented, raising an eyebrow at the doctor.

“No,” Bones said with a smile. “I got you somethin’ else. Thought you might like to join the festivities.”

“I see.”

Neither Spock nor Bones reacted to the confused looks they were getting from the rest of the group. Jim tried to sneak a glance at Spock’s cup. What was in there looked very much like hot chocolate, but that didn’t make any sense, unless Bones had spiked it with rum or Irish Cream. Maybe Vulcans didn’t like the taste of oranges.

Spock took a careful sip, and his eyes widened a fraction. “This is… quite satisfactory.”

Bones grinned, raising his own glass. “Doctor’s orders.”

Spock, for once, didn’t comment on the illogical remark and simply took another sip.

“To absent friends,” Scotty toasted, and everyone raised their cups in salute. Jim had noticed that the celebrations were a little more subdued than they could have been, which was true for most festive occasions in this day and age. A world had disappeared sixteen months ago, and its absence was felt acutely.

“To absent friends,” he echoed, and suddenly remembered the Vulcan boy with whom he had shared his padd in second grade. Sahtan. Maybe he had been off-world on that day, had made it out. Jim knew it wasn’t very likely.

Lost in thought, he didn’t notice immediately how quickly the contents of Spock’s cup were disappearing, and did a double take when he saw that the chocolate was almost gone. Spock never gulped down a drink; in fact, he could nurse a cup of Vulcan tea for as long as half an hour. Not this time, apparently.

Spock spoke up, apropos of nothing. “What is the significance of attaching a specimen of _Viscum album_ to the ceiling?”

“It’s called mistletoe, Spock,” Bones said. “People kiss underneath it.”

Spock glanced at Ensigns Barley and Sadayoshi, who hadn’t come up for air in two minutes, and the mistletoe in its lonely corner, with no kissing couples anywhere in its vicinity. “Apparently not.”

“It’s a tradition,” Jim said. If the Cultural Exchange Group had taught him anything, it was that his own customs were as alien as Orion birthing dances to most inhabitants of the galaxy, and this didn’t necessarily exclude Spock. The man had grown up on Vulcan, after all. “A person standing under the mistletoe can be kissed by anyone, and it’s bad luck for them to refuse the kiss. That doesn’t mean all kissing going on has to be under the mistletoe.”

“I see,” Spock said. “Are delinquent individuals ordered to stand under it as a means of punishment?”

Bones groaned and buried his face in his hands, but Jim thought it was actually a valid question. Being up for grabs in a kissing free-for-all must sound like punishment, at least to a Vulcan.

“No. Usually, anyone standing under the mistletoe is waiting to be kissed, and probably has a certain person in mind.”

Jim expected Spock to point out the illogic of all this, but the Vulcan merely raised an eyebrow and lifted his cup to his lips once more. When he set it down, every last drop of chocolate was gone.

“I shall require more of this,” he said, holding out the cup to McCoy, who seemed to realize for the first time that Spock was basically inhaling his drink. And that the First Officer’s face had taken on a rather dark green flush.

“Spock, I think that’s enough for now,” he said carefully. “You seem to, uh, react quite strongly to-“

“I demand th-that you provide me with another drink,” Spock interrupted. Jim stared. Not only had he never heard this tone from his soft-spoken second-in-command, but Spock had slurred his syllables. Only slightly, but for Spock, that was like outright stammering.

“I don’t think so, Spock.” McCoy took the empty cup and set it down on the table with an air of finality. “Not so sure you should’ve had any at all.”

Spock blinked, and if Jim hadn’t known better, he would have guessed that his First Officer was suppressing the urge to burp. “You may… have a point, doctor. I seem to be feeling… somewhat dizzy…” He suddenly turned to Uhura, looking very sincere as he said, _“Ni’droi’ik nar-tor. Paveka ri’pavesh-tor’lai ka au pav’tora istau’u.”_

Uhura seemed to be torn between a laugh and a frown. _“Spohk, ri’shi yeht se.”_ She looked at Kirk, raising her eyebrows in what was clearly an order. “Jim, maybe you should take Spock for a little walk?”

Jim got the message; he could count on one hand the times when Uhura had called him ‘Jim’. Put Spock to bed before he embarrasses himself. He still had no idea how Spock had gotten himself drunk on chocolate, but apparently, he had. And quite so, if his glassy eyes and slight swaying were any indication.

“Come on, Spock,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant as he got to his feet. “Let’s get some fresh air, what do you say?”

_“Ri’se sov sluk ma yel-hali-“_ Spock blinked, as if by clearing his vision he could clear his head, as well. “I mean to say, t-there is no fresh air in the traditional sense on a starship, since all air is f-filtered through-“

“Why don’t you tell me all about it in your quarters,” Jim said firmly. “Come on now, Commander.”

The formal title seemed to do it; in any case, Spock stood up slowly, one hand on the table to steady himself. “Christmas is illogical,” he stated.

“Yeah well, you’re not so logical yourself right now.” Jim nodded goodbye to the rest of the group as he steered Spock towards the exit, hoping none of the crew would notice the Vulcan’s slightly unsteady gait. “What the hell did Bones put in that chocolate?”

The door to the messhall slid shut behind them, and Jim let out a breath of relief. At least they’d made it out without any incidents.

Spock turned to him, and looked… almost guilty? “The doctor did not add anything to my beverage. I s-should not have indulged. It is not appropriate.”

“It was the chocolate that got you…” _…drunk as a skunk…_ “…tipsy?”

“Ind-deed.” Spock hiccupped in a quiet, almost dignified way. “It is known as a powerful intoxicant to Vulcans. I only had it once before, as a fourteen-year-old. I th-thought I might not react quite so s-strongly as an adult.”

“Your parents let you have something that would get you drunk?”

“I was visiting my relatives on Earth,” Spock said. “They did not know about the effects on Vulcans.” Suddenly, quite startlingly to Jim, he made a sound that in anyone else would have been a muffled laugh. “They did not know. I did not tell them.”

Jim thought that he rather liked drunk Spock. “Bet you got grounded for that one.”

“No,” Spock said. “When my father heard about it, he assigned me four days of silent meditation on Surak’s maxim of abstinence.”

Jim winced. “That sounds… intense.”

“It was _guhfik’bath_ ,” Spock said, and almost stumbled as they turned a corner. Jim caught him by the arm.

“Careful there.”

Spock glanced down at the hand on his arm, then up again, and there was something about his expression that Jim couldn’t quite interprete. He let go quickly.

“Sorry.”

_“Kup’tu estuhl nashveh’r fan-wak eh fan-wilat,”_ Spock said, in that same sincere tone he had used with Uhura, and Jim wished he had a Universal Translator. His Vulcan was more than rusty, and Spock couldn’t have said what Jim had understood.

“Here we are,” he said, nodding at Spock’s cabin door. “Do you, er, need any-”

“Jim.” Spock stared at him, and Jim broke off, completely forgetting what he’d been about to say. Spock’s gaze was intense.

_“Shok-tor’e nash-veh’r.”_

And no, Spock just couldn’t have said that. Even though the mere idea was sexy as hell. “Um, I’m not sure I-”

“ _Kroikah variben._ Look up, Jim.”

Jim did, and saw that some joker had stuck a twig of green onto the bulkhead over Spock’s cabin door.

“Mistletoe,” he said, stupidly.

“Indeed.” Spock raised an eyebrow at him. “Should you not follow the tradition to avoid ‘bad luck’?”

Jim’s gaze was caught by those dark brown eyes that, for once, seemed to hide nothing. “Spock, are you-”

But he never finished the sentence. Spock was kissing him, and it sent a spike of heat directly to Jim’s groin, making it difficult to remember that they were right out there in the corridor and that Spock was drunk, he couldn’t mean-

“I am not so drunk,” Spock whispered, leaning back a little so that he could look at Jim. He lifted his right hand, raising his middle and index fingers. _“Estuhl’au.”_

Touch them. Dazed, Jim raised two fingers of his own and felt Spock’s fingerpads on his, warm and prickling, as if some kind of energy were passing between them. Spock began to rub their fingers against each other, his eyes half-closing, and suddenly Jim could feel Spock’s desire, his excitement at touching Jim in this way.

This time, it was he who initiated the kiss. Their tongues touching, their fingers creating that incredible electricity, Jim felt himself grow hard and pushed against Spock so that the Vulcan’s back was pressed against the bulkhead.

And no, he shouldn’t be doing this. Not with his First Officer, and certainly not when the man in question was drunk on hot chocolate, of all things. But the point where he might have stopped had passed by the time Spock’s fingers had touched his.

“Why don’t we take this inside,” he whispered, stepping even closer and feeling Spock’s hardness against his own. _“Aitlu k’du guv-kanashivaya.”_

His grammar was probably atrocious, but it did the job. Spock’s eyes grew black, and the next second Jim found himself yanked inside a cabin he had only seen a few times before. An unfamiliar heat washed over him, and he caught a glimpse of a strange statue in the corner and fierce-looking weapons mounted on the wall. Then the door closed behind them, and for a while, Jim stopped thinking altogether.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vulcan phrases:
> 
> Ni’droi’ik nar-tor. Paveka ri’pavesh-tor’lai ka au pav’tora istau’u: I’m sorry. I wish things had been different.
> 
> Spohk, ri’shi yeht se: Spock, this isn’t the right place.
> 
> guhfik’bath: damn boring (colloquial Vulcan)
> 
> Kup’tu estuhl nashveh’r fan-wak eh fan-wilat: You can touch me anywhere and anytime.
> 
> Shok-tor’e nash-veh’r: Kiss me.
> 
> Kroikah variben: Stop speaking.
> 
> Aitlu k’du guv-kanashivaya: I wanting have the sexual intercourse with you (including Jim’s bad grammar)


	5. Sex

Jim Kirk wasn’t new to sex with non-humans. He had never been averse to experiments of the sexual kind, and to his gratification, he seemed to count as an attractive partner by the standards of most species (not counting Rigellians, one of whom told him that she liked him well enough as a person, but couldn’t get over the fact that he had hair the color of _gh’puch_. )

He loved discovering what those foreign sexual organs felt and tasted like (because of course he’d seen pictures, but the reality of it was still mind-blowing). He admitted freely to having a taste for the exotic, and shared readily with alien partners who wanted to add a male human to their list of sexual discoveries. And if you couldn’t make certain parts fit, there was always something else that could provide a pleasurable experience for both sides. It was all about exploring and improvising, really.

So Jim was surprised, to say the least, that with Spock, it didn’t feel like that at all. Yes, it was interesting to find out that Vulcans had their balls inside, or that their penis was sheathed and only emerged during moments of sexual arousal (“But how do you pee?” he’d asked once, prompting a lengthy lecture from Spock and effectively killing the mood). It was also interesting - and somewhat scary - to learn that a Vulcan’s penis was covered in tiny spines that stimulated ovulation in the Vulcan female (and apparently provided very pleasurable sensations). The spines could be retracted at will, much to Jim’s relief. According to Spock, Vulcan women scorned a lover who would retract his spines, labeling him selfish and a weakling, but Jim was quite frankly not into having his most sensitive areas scratched raw during love-making.

It also turned out that with Vulcans, the receiving partner traditionally slapped their lover after intercourse – which could be a light, ritual slap or an outright punch, depending on the couple’s temperaments and inclinations. To Spock, it was as much a part of sex as kissing was to most humans, and he seemed almost offended when Jim had refused, at first. Jim recalled the exchange vividly.

“Have I not pleased you?” Spock had asked as they lay together after a particularly intense bout of love-making. “If that is the case, I apologize.”

Jim had turned over, still somewhat dazed and unable to follow. “Spock, that was amazing. Why would you think I didn’t like it?” He had, after all, made his pleasure known quite vocally.

“You did not strike me,” Spock said, not looking at him.

“What?”

“You did not strike me,” the Vulcan repeated, still refusing to meet his eyes. “The logical conclusion is that I must have displeased you in some way.”

Alarmed, Jim had propped himself up on his elbows. “Spock, what are you talking about? Did someone else… beat you when you were intimate?”

Nightmarish scenarios of abusive partners and twisted ‘declarations of love’ had appeared before his inner eye, but Spock seemed just as puzzled as he was, and just the tiniest bit offended.

“I have always endeavoured to ensure my partner’s pleasure as well as my own,” Spock said, which to Jim sounded like the Vulcan equivalent of ‘I’ve had no complaints’.

“And they beat you for it?” Jim asked, disbelievingly. He knew Spock hadn’t been intimate with many people, and Uhura didn’t seem like the type.

It was then that Spock had explained about the ‘Vulcan love slap’ (as Jim termed it in his mind). Uhura, ever the intercultural expert, had apparently known all about it.

After that, the love slap became as much a part of their sex life as sharing a bed, something Jim had asked for. Vulcan couples traditionally slept in separate rooms, but when Jim explained that in a human relationship, leaving after sex was considered somewhat insensitive, Spock readily complied. And, just like any human boyfriend, he hogged the bed, pushing Jim to very edge of the mattress.

All of these differences added an interesting touch to the relationship, sure, but to Jim, Spock didn’t seem exotic like his other alien partners had. He was simply Spock, simply there in a way no else had been.

“Oh my God, will you stop it with the sappiness.” McCoy took a long gulp from his bourbon, as if to rid himself of a treacly taste. “I get it, I get it, you and the hobgoblin are crazy in love, forever and ever, hallelujah. I don’t want any of the details, y’hear me? Just make sure you use protection.”

He tossed Jim a box of said items. “Here. I swear, if you come into my sickbay one more time with green antennae growing on your junk…“

“They weren’t antennae, they were eczema, and I told you-“

“Yeah yeah, I know, you don’t sleep around anymore. You were more fun when you still were.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “Oh fuck off Bones.”

McCoy leaned back in his chair, raising his bourbon in a mock salute. “I’ll drink to that.”

He emptied his glass and set it down. After years of drinking together, Jim knew what was coming – McCoy had gotten the grumpy-old-doctor routine out of his system, and was about to get serious. From his look, Jim wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.

“Kid, I don’t want to rain on your parade,” McCoy said, tapping the arm of his chair the way he did when he was carefully choosing his words. “And don’t you tell him, but I kind of like the hobgoblin. It’s not that. But… Vulcans and humans are different, you know. And I’m not talking about the ears.”

“I know that, Bones.”

“I’m not so sure you do. To you, it may seem normal that Spock had a relationship with Uhura, broke it off and now he’s with you. That’s how we do it at this day and age, freedom of choice and all that. But for a Vulcan that’s not normal. It’s downright scandalous. At home he’d be the talk of the town. Even more so since he’s male.”

“What’s that got to do with anything?”

McCoy raised his eyebrows at him. “Vulcan society is traditionally matriarchal, kid. Men are held to different standards than women. Just like women in our society, although we like to think that’s all in the past.”

“How come you’re an expert on Vulcan society all of a sudden?”

“I’ve got a Ph.D. in xenomedicine. That includes psychology and cultural influences. But that’s beside the point. I’m just telling you to be careful.”

“Spock and Uhura broke it off because he figured out that he was gay,” Jim said quietly. “He didn’t just do it on a whim.”

“I’m not saying he did. I’m just saying that Spock hasn’t had an easy life, being who he is, and he’s still very young.”

“He’s three years older than me.”

“And you’re oh-so mature,” McCoy scoffed. “What I’m saying is that for a Vulcan, Spock’s almost still a teenager. Did you know that Vulcans reach sexual maturity around the age of twenty-five to thirty?”

“So you’re saying Spock’s the rebellious teenage boy and I’m the girlfriend with the tongue piercing his daddy wouldn’t like?”

“I’m not saying anything, Jim. No need to jump down my throat. It’s just that you may have different expectations, and Spock may come to realize that conforming with Vulcan social rules is what he really needs.” McCoy sighed. “Dammit, kid, I just don’t want to see you get hurt.”

Jim could see that it was the truth, much as he disliked McCoy’s perspective and wanted to throw his own failed marriage in the doctor’s face. But it wouldn’t be fair. In his own pessimistic way, McCoy was looking out for him.

“He told me his name, you know.” He said it quietly, not looking at his friend.

“What?”

“His third name.” Jim glanced up to meet McCoy’s puzzled frown. “It’s something Vulcans tell to only one person, their…” _T’hy’la_. But that word didn’t belong here, spoken in a casual setting where it would be picked apart and scoffed at as Vulcan voodoo. “Their soulmate,” he said instead.

Instead of an answer, McCoy just sighed again.

Later that night, Jim lay awake next to a sleeping Vulcan and found his thoughts returning to his talk with McCoy. It was easy to brush it off as the misgivings of a person who had been disappointed one too many times by one too many of his romantic partners, and didn’t want to see his friend getting hurt in the same way. Maybe there was even a little bit of unease at the alienness of Vulcan relationship mores. Jim could just see the doctor bursting a blood vessel if he ever heard about the love slap.

Yet, he couldn’t deny that being with Spock was different. There was a lot less physical contact than with a human partner, and touches, if they occurred, had a different meaning than they did to a human. Touching the hand was a clear come-on (no wonder many Vulcans reacted so shocked when a human wanted to ‘shake hands’); touching the face was a silent request to share one’s thoughts. Going on dates, the usual romantic rituals humans used to ‘get to know one another’, were made superfluous by the mind meld. Vulcans touched one another’s thoughts and saw the truth there, whether that person could be a suitable mate or not. If not, they didn’t waste their time. Spock did it readily enough, the movie dates, the dinners for two in Jim’s quarters, but it was obvious that he didn’t need these things to reassure himself of the change in their relationship.

Even arguing was different. With a human couple, every argument was basically about the relationship itself, about hidden hurts and silent grievances. And so, an argument about a sock on the floor could be blown out of proportion and result in an icy silence or a flood of tears. Jim had found out the hard way that the Vulcan mind didn’t work that way. Logic ruled supreme, and if someone was acting in an illogical way, they needed to be told so and their behavior corrected. That was what mates did for one another; or, as Spock put it, one of the most sacred duties of Vulcan companionship. And no, leaving their shared bathroom in an unholy mess was not logical, and therefore not acceptable. End of discussion.

Jim turned over and found that once again, Spock had managed to hog most of the bed to himself. He was sprawled across the mattress, his arms and legs spread in an utterly relaxed position. Knowing that there was no way of moving a Vulcan who didn’t want to be moved, Jim opted for the only alternative left to him: wrapping himself around Spock like a living blanket. Not that he minded much.

His head resting on Spock’s shoulder, Jim ran his fingers casually through the dark hair on the Vulcan’s chest. It felt finer than it would have on a human; softer somehow. According to Spock, paleolithic Vulcans had lost their fur later than early humans had, which was why most Vulcan males sported rather impressive chest hair. Jim didn’t much care about the evolutionary background, but he knew that he loved running his fingers through that silky pelt.

A sudden rumbling sound from Spock made him pause. Spock had never snored before. Then the sound repeated itself, and Jim realized that it wasn’t a snore. He felt a smile spreading on his face. Spock wasn’t snoring. Spock was purring.

He continued to run his fingers through the hair on Spock’s chest, and Spock continued to purr, a slow, low-pitched vibration from deep within his throat. It was incredibly soothing, and Jim wondered sleepily if Spock ever allowed himself this expression of content when he was awake. He hadn’t known that Vulcans could purr, but then, they wouldn’t exactly advertise it.

“You’re really just a giant cat, aren’t you.” Jim felt himself drifting off, his mind no longer dwelling on the talk with McCoy. This was now, and this was real, and for the moment, it was more than enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cat sex is actually quite violent, but I toned it down somewhat (for Jim's sake if nothing else!).
> 
> One more chapter to come (And One In Which They Don't)!


	6. And One in Which They Don't: Mating For Life

**Captain’s Log, Stardate 1677.27:**

_We’re in orbit around K’shatri, or New Vulcan as it is commonly known. K’shatri means ‘foreign world’, which is incredibly sad, if you think about it._ **[Computer, delete last sentence.]**

_We’ve picked up supplies on Earth and several other Federation planets, and are now in the process of delivering them and helping the Vulcans build more schools and orphanages, of all things. Logical as ever, they evacuated the children first, and so there are just not enough adults left for every kid to have a foster home. It’s just fucked up, is what it is._ **[Computer, delete last sentence.]** _We have several dozen volunteer teachers and child psychologists aboard who are going to work with the Vulcan children. Some of them haven’t spoken since Ma’toi, as the Vulcans call the day of the attack. Dr. M’Benga has been advising the volunteers on how to deal with Vulcan mental trauma._

_I’d like to request formal commendations for my entire command staff, who have been working tirelessly to help the colony. Mr. Scott and his team haven’t taken a break in days, helping with construction work and infrastructure, and Dr. McCoy has been staying at the Central Hospital to teach the Junior Healers and deliver medical equipment. Lieutenant Uhura has been working with the volunteers, and Mr. Spock and his staff have been touring the farms and have helped install the latest in hydroculture technology so that the colony can start growing its own food on a greater scale. As of now, K’shatri has to rely mostly on imports from other planets._

**Captain’s Personal Log, Stardate 1677.27:**

_The crew’s been more subdued than usual, which isn’t exactly a surprise. Uhura and several of her specialists went down to the interim accommodations for the kids, and it’s just… They don’t cry. They just sit there and stare, like they’ve been doing for the last twenty months. It breaks your heart._

_I’m also worried about Spock. He’s been quieter than usual, spending a lot of time on the observation deck and in the gym. Sulu tells me he saw him wreck some of the equipment. Bones says he snapped at Christine Chapel the other day… looked almost as if he wanted to throw something at her. He denies it of course, won’t talk to me about it no matter what I say. I’m not sure if it’s just pent-up anger and trauma, or if there’s something else going on._

###

The Vulcans were different than Jim remembered them.

The survivors they’d taken to Earth in the days after _Ma’toi_ had been shell shocked – there was no other word for it, although they didn’t tremble and cry out in their sleep, as humans might have done. They had retreated deep into their minds, some entering a strange kind of trance that left them in a zombie-like state – able to walk and talk, but somehow not alive. Only the Elders seemed willing to remain with the living, grimly and silently going about the first steps of planning a future for their decimated race. Jim had seen more than one Vulcan simply collapse – in the messhall, the corridors or sickbay. When asked, Spock explained (reluctantly, as back then most of their interactions had been) that these Vulcans had not simply lost their families, but the web of psychic bonds anchoring them in reality. Their minds were raw, bleeding just like open wounds bled, and there were not enough healers left to do anything about it.

It had sounded like a fatal thing, but Jim had not known, back then, just how strong the Vulcan will to survive really was. This was a people who had nearly extinguished their own race several times before Surak came and put an end to the global warfare. Their planet had been harsh and unwelcoming, constantly testing any life that had clawed its way through the evolutionary process, and yet the Vulcans had managed to make that place their own, and do it well. They were not the type to simply roll over and die, no matter how much trauma the universe threw at them. But it would take time.

The ones who were showing the first signs of healing were not the orphaned children, still hurting from the loss of their parental bonds, nor the Elders, despite their grim determination to rebuild the world they had known. It was the young Vulcans, of whom there were many, sent off-planet as part of their education. They seemed to understand that all of Vulcan, all that was left, depended on them now, and they rose to the task even though some of them were hardly more than schoolchildren. Jim saw fifteen- and sixteen-year-olds gathered around McCoy, listening earnestly as he gave them a crash course in advanced medicine. A Vulcan Healer traditionally studied for twelve years before seeing their first patient, but there was no time and they knew it. There were thirteen-year-olds teaching classes, and a twenty-year-old administrator responsible for an entire system of infrastructure. And it worked. Jim had no idea how, but these teenagers did the work of adults, and they did it well.

One of them was Samik, an eighteen-year-old who came to the Enterprise to be taught about communications from Uhura. The boy casually mentioned that he was to set up a database for the colony, which was currently depending on the Federation-wide network without any system of their own.

“I shall be most grateful for your instructions,” he said solemnly to Uhura, who, Jim could tell, was torn between being impressed and the wish to ruffle the kid’s hair and send him to the messhall for a plate of sweet _kreyla_.

They spent most of alpha shift huddled over the communications console, Uhuras’s fingers flying over the keys while the boy inhaled the information. Except for a soft question here and there, they hardly spoke, and after a while Jim had almost forgotten that they were there.

He was surprised, therefore, when a quiet voice spoke up right next to him. “Captain Kirk.”

Samik pronounced the rank and name as one word, “Captainkirk”, which made Jim smile.

“Yes, Samik?”

“May I request permission to accompany Lieutenant Uhura to the laboratoriums? She indicated that I would benefit greatly from inspecting the technology.”

Jim nodded. “Sure, whatever you need.”

“I thank you.” Samik hesitated a fraction of a second. “May I also request permission to join you for your evening repast, Captainkirk?”

Jim paused – was Samik blushing? There did seem to be a light green hue spreading on the young Vulcan’s cheeks.

He was about to reassure Samik that he’d be happy to have dinner together, when a hand closed around the Vulcan boy’s arm. It was Spock, looking as menacing as Jim had ever seen him. His face was dark with rage, his eyes blazing. When he spoke, his voice came dangerously close to a growl.

_“Sa-kan – pehkau’a!”_

_Boy, desist._

Jim had been brushing up on his Vulcan these past months, and knew that Spock had addressed Samik in the least polite way possible. Samik’s eyes widened a fraction, and he quickly stepped back from Jim’s chair.

“Captainkirk, Spohk, I apologize. _Ni'droi'ik nar-tor.”_

He bowed awkwardly, and all but scurried back to the communications console. Uhura seemed to be busy watching her readings, but Jim knew that she had seen the entire incident.

He got up. “Mr. Spock, my ready room, please.”

When Spock seemed unwilling to follow, still watching Samik as if considering whether to neck-pinch him into oblivion, Jim hardened his voice.

“ _Now_ , Commander.”

With a final glare at the young Vulcan, who seemed to shrink in on himself, Spock followed Jim off the bridge. An air of tension seemed to surround him that did not dissipate even when the door had closed, and the object of his displeasure was out of sight.

Jim turned to face his First Officer, determined to deal with this situation in a strictly professional way. The sharp words died in his mouth, however. Spock looked like hell. He’d been unusually pale for the last few days, but now he was almost white. His eyes were sunken, and his normally immaculate hair looked tousled, as if he hadn’t bothered to comb it this morning. Since he hadn’t spent the night in Jim’s quarters for almost a week now, Jim couldn’t tell if he had slept at all.

“Spock, what’s wrong?” He wanted to step forward, put a hand on Spock’s arm, but something about the Vulcan’s demeanor seemed to forbid any personal approach.

Spock did not meet his eyes, staring at the bulkhead behind Jim. “I do not know what you are referring to, sir.”

Jim noticed a smattering of green spots on Spock’s forehead that he hadn’t noticed before. They looked like acne, but that couldn’t be. A Vulcan with pimples… no.

“Bullshit. You’ve been acting strange ever since we arrived at New Vulcan. And you almost decked Samik out there. What the hell was that about?”

Spock’s face darkened again at the mention of the other Vulcan’s name. “He was overstepping his boundaries and had to be corrected.”

“Spock, he just asked me to have dinner together.”

“He has _no right_!”

Jim blinked. Spock had almost shouted.

“Spock, I’m not speaking as your captain here. What’s wrong? Don’t you trust me?”

Spock’s next few words were uttered so quietly that Jim almost missed them. “It is myself I do not trust.”

“Why not?” Jim stepped closer, ignoring all the don’t-touch-me signals the Vulcan was sending his way. “Spock, if there’s anything I can do…”

He reached out, intending to pull Spock closer, and was shocked when he found himself stumbling against his desk. Spock had pushed him away, forcefully enough so that Jim almost lost his footing.

“Do not touch me!”

“What the hell, Spock?”

Spock turned away, lowering his head. His fists were balled at his sides, trembling, as if he were trying to keep himself from smashing them into Jim’s computer console… or his face.

“I require to be left alone. Do not pry into my personal business.”

“I don’t know how you define ‘relationship’, Spock, but in my book, your personal matters are my business.” Jim took a deep breath, trying to calm down. “I can see that there’s something wrong with you. I’m not just going to leave it alone.”

“But I demand that you do.” Spock still wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Captain, I am no longer fit for duty. I ask that you confine me to quarters and activate the security lock.”

“Like hell I will. You’ve given me no reason to do that.”

“But I will.” Spock’s voice had dropped to almost a whisper. “Captain, I am not one to beg. So please – do as I ask. It is all I can say on the matter.”

Jim shook his head. “I can’t, Spock. Not when there’s something obviously wrong with you. If you won’t confide in me-” it hurt to say it, but Jim forced his voice to stay calm – “maybe you can talk to McCoy or M’Benga. If-”

“No,” Spock cut across him. “There is nothing to discuss. The doctors cannot help me. Jim-“ Finally, he looked at Jim, and there was real desperation in his eyes, unguarded and uncontrolled for once. “Please. I ask thee as my _t’hy’la_ , the Keeper of my Name. Lock me away. I cannot be seen.”

Spock hardly asked for anything, neither as a first officer nor as a lover, and Jim was tempted, for a second, to give in, if only to start working on a back-up plan with McCoy. It wouldn’t be fair, though. And Spock would know he was being lied to.

“No, Spock. I’m sorry. If you don’t tell me what’s wrong, then there’s nothing I can do.”

Spock’s face grew rigid, as expressionless as it had been when he’d met with the Vulcan Elders. “Then our discussion is finished.”

“Spock-”

The Vulcan pushed past him, almost sending Jim stumbling again.

“Spock, wait-!”

But the door had already hissed shut. Jim stood beside his desk, stunned by what had just happened. Spock had never, after that unfortunate incident on the bridge, raised his hand or voice against Jim, nor had he walked out on any of their discussions. And now… Chapel, Samik, Jim himself. Spock seemed barely able to keep himself from the kind of violent outburst that had left Jim wheezing and gasping on a broken console. And he had left his post. This was something Spock just didn’t do.

_Maybe I should send Security after him._

Jim squashed the thought as soon as it came. Spock wasn’t himself, but he wasn’t a danger to anyone. It must be hell, being confronted yet again with the struggling remainder of his once-proud species and the loss of almost his entire family, including his mother. Many of the Vulcans Jim had met were still visibly affected. And Spock… he knew that their eyes were upon him, holding him to even higher standards now that the Elders had declared him _veh’dor’torka_ , One To Be Honoured. He was a hero to them now, and in this Vulcans weren’t so different from humans. They expected their heroes to be without faults.

Jim sat down heavily at his desk. In his dealings with Sarek and other Vulcans, Spock had been what they expected of him – emotionless, calm, composed. Jim had seen his jaw tighten ever so slightly when Sarek introduced T’Nvrei, a somber-looking Vulcan lady, as “she who is to be my consort”. But he had bowed to her, unfailingly polite, and welcomed her into the clan with the traditional words of greeting. Later, when Jim carefully brought up the subject, Spock’s face had grown rigid. “Sarek does as he must,” was all he had said.

Jim knew that Amanda’s death had left a gaping hole in Spock’s life, and that he was still struggling with the grief he’d never really confronted. Seeing his father ‘replace’ her so soon must be painful, to say the least.

In the days after _Ma’toi_ , Jim had seen Vulcan men and women die from a broken bond. They simply - stopped. It surprised him, therefore, how quick most of them were to find new mates. No one stayed alone for long, if there was anyone remotely suitable available. Even Old Spock, who Jim knew still longed for the James Kirk of his universe, was living with a silver-haired gentleman whom he introduced as his _‘katelau’_ – his mate.

Following a sudden intuition, Jim turned to the comm. terminal on his desk and punched the button to open a channel. “Connect me with S’ch’n T’Gai Selik, Sochya’Khar.” He added Old Spock’s – Selik’s – address details, and waited for the computer to establish the connection.

“Jim.” Selik’s face on the screen crinkled into a smile, which wasn’t too unusual for the old Vulcan. Jim had noticed that none of the other Vulcans seemed to take offense at Selik’s emotional displays; an Elder was apparently allowed a certain amount of eccentricity. Or maybe Selik just didn’t give a damn.

“Selik,” Jim said, raising his hand in the traditional greeting. _“Dif-tor heh smusma.”_

“And hello to you, too,” Selik said. “I am pleased to see you, Jim.”

Jim smiled – no matter how worried he was, it was a kick, hearing such open admission of emotion from any version of Spock. “Same here. How’s it going?”

“If you are referring to my personal situation, ‘it’ is going well,” Selik said. He glanced at something outside the screen. “Sonak is preparing an evening meal for the _kanu_ and ourselves.” Jim remembered – Selik and his mate were currently fostering four orphans, little dark-eyed toddlers who spent most of their day silently clinging to their foster fathers’ robes. “He seems to be burning the _kasa’kap_ yet again.”

As if on cue, there was a loud ‘clump’ from somewhere beyond the screen, followed by muttered words in Vulcan.

“Use the oven mitts, husband,” Selik said placidly. “I do not wish you to injure yourself again.”

Satisfied that his request had been followed, he turned back to the screen. “Forgive me, Jim. You seem to have an urgent reason for your call.”

Jim blinked. “How do you…”

“After so many years in the company of your other self, it is not difficult to determine when there is something on your mind,” Selik said with another slight smile.

Jim nodded. “I guess so.”

“The ‘something’ on your mind… I suppose it concerns my young counterpart. I admit that I have been expecting your call, if not at this precise moment in time. But I assume that his unique situation may have accelerated certain… developments.”

Jim shook his head. “Sorry, Selik, you’ve lost me there. Are you saying you know what’s going on with Spock? Has he been talking to you?”

He couldn’t help the slight sting he felt at the idea of Spock confiding in the older man.

“He has not,” Selik said. “But yes, I do know what is happening to my younger self. It is inevitable.”

That didn’t sound good, Jim thought. “What’s going on – is he ill? Some kind of belated reaction to the trauma?”

“He is not ill, per se,” Selik replied. “For Vulcans of a certain age, it is a natural occurrence. He does need your help, however. I presume Spock has not informed you about _pon farr_?”

Jim shook his head. “Never mentioned it.”

Selik let out a tiny sigh. “I expected as much. Vulcans are raised not to speak of it. As I have pointed out to the Elders only recently, it is an illogical tradition… as Surak himself said, the unknown inspires fear, whereas knowledge invites serenity. Be that as it may… I myself struggled to explain it to the James Kirk of my universe, when I was first affected.”

“Affected by what? What does Spock need me to do?”

Selik looked at him, calm as always. “He needs you to have sex with him.”

Jim stared. “What?”

“Jim… Vulcans have many euphemisms for what is happening to Spock. The Time of Madness, the blood fever, the burning… but basically, what happens to us every seven years is that we go into heat, not unlike some of your Earth mammals. Logic is stripped from us and we return to a feral state. If we do not mate at this time, we die.”

Jim felt as if someone had punched him in the chest. Feral… yes, the look on Spock’s face when he’d confronted Samik had been close. And now Jim knew what he had been doing – driving away a rival, defending his territory. His mate. “He could die from this?”

“Yes,” Selik said. “If he does not mate, he will die.”

“But… why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t he just say something? Is he crazy?”

For the first time, Selik glanced away. “I believe he is trying to protect you. _Pon farr_ is a time of chaos and violence. If you become his mate, he may well injure you badly. My own Jim…” Selik paused, a haunted look in his eyes. “There are things one can never forgive oneself.”

“What, so he’s going to crawl into a hole and die just because he thinks I can’t take a rough fuck?” Jim didn’t care if he came across as unfeeling or crude. He was _pissed as hell_.

“It is not that simple,” Selik said, unfazed by Jim’s outburst. “Vulcan partners join each other in _pon farr_. Usually it is the male who triggers the blood fever, but not always. In either case, both partners will be affected by the hormonal change. They will be equals in their madness, and in their physical ability to endure it. With a human partner, it is different.”

“Amanda did it,” Jim pointed out, past caring whether he was trampling on Selik’s sensibilities. “She seemed fine.”

“When I was seven years old, my mother spent a week in the hospital,” Selik said quietly. “I did not understand at the time. Do not judge Spock for wanting to spare you this.”

“Bullshit,” Jim snarled. “What does he think, I’m going to watch him curl up and die? What do I have to do? Just find him and do the nasty?”

To his disbelief, Selik – chuckled. “You are very much like he was. Maybe a little less refined in your vocabulary… yes, Jim. Basically, that is what you have to do. Be prepared, however; Spock is not going to be the person you know. He will not be able to take your feelings or your well-being into consideration.”

Jim took a deep breath, maybe to tell Selik that he didn’t care, maybe to point out that Spock hadn’t taken Jim’s feelings into consideration either when he had decided that his death was an acceptable outcome. He wasn’t sure, and as it was, the intercom chiming interrupted him before he could say any of this.

“McCoy to Kirk.”

Jim hit a button, and McCoy’s worried face appeared next to Selik’s on the screen.

“What’s up, Bones? I’m in the middle of-”

“Jim, I just got a call from the transporter room. They said Spock ordered an unauthorized beam-down to some coordinates in the middle of nowhere.”

“What? Why didn’t they call me?”

“Ensign Kyle said Spock seemed disoriented, hardly aware of his surroundings. That’s why Kyle called sickbay first. I tried his communicator, but it looks like he’s set it to scramble his signal. The scanners can’t locate him on the surface.”

“Goddammit. I’ll be right there. Kirk out.” Jim turned to Selik, who was watching him calmly. “Selik, I’m sorry, I’ve got to go. Spock-”

“I heard Dr. McCoy,” Selik said. “Jim – do be careful.”

“I will,” Jim replied automatically, knowing that he was telling a lie. Being careful was the last thing on his mind.

###

New Vulcan – _K’shatri_ , to its inhabitants – was hot. That in itself was no surprise; of course the Vulcans would choose a planet similar to their lost homeworld. Vulcan physiology thrived in a hot and dry climate, and so the colony had been set up in a place where the weather conditions came close to Old Vulcan’s ‘temperate’ zones. Meaning, in human terms, it was hot as an oven.

As he trudged across a sandy plain, Jim replayed the conversation he’d had with McCoy before he’d beamed down. Or rather, the argument. The doctor did not agree that it was the Captain’s job to retrieve his wayward First Officer; he certainly did not think that Jim should be going on his own. And he did not react well when Jim’s only explanation consisted of “It’s personal, Bones”. A shouting match had ensued, and Jim had ended up pulling rank with McCoy, something he’d never done before. Kyle had very determinedly not looked at him as he activated the transporter console.

Spock had indeed chosen coordinates ‘in the middle of nowhere’. About 500 kilometers from the colony’s nearest outpost, there was literally nothing out here except sand, dry shrubs and reddish rock formations that reminded Jim of Death Valley back on Earth. Unlike Vulcan, _K’shatri_ harbored only few dangerous lifeforms, but Jim had grabbed a phaser, anyway, along with several water bottles and a standard planetside kit. By now he was glad he’d remembered; the two suns were burning down relentlessly, and he’d almost emptied the first of the bottles.

_Damn you, Spock._ He didn’t say it out loud, saving his breath as he toiled up another sloping hill. The thought thrummed in his head, however, hot as the suns beating on his back. _Damn you and your secrecy and your fucking martyr act. Why couldn’t you just *tell* me?_

Spock had done a thorough job of scrambling his signal, as Jim found out when he activated his tricorder after the beam-down. No life signs, if one didn’t count a few small avians and rodents. Certainly no hormon-crazed Vulcan, whom Jim was going to rip a new one when he found him.

_When_ he found him. Not _if_. It was one of the things McCoy had yelled about ( _“And how are you going to find him down there, genius, you’re not a bloodhound!”_ ). Jim’s reply had only incensed the doctor more: _“Oh, don’t give me that Vulcan mumbo-jumbo!"_

Yet contrary to McCoy’s belief, there was nothing mystical or paranormal about it. Spock was there, in Jim’s head, and had been ever since that first admittedly fumbling encounter in Spock’s overheated quarters. Jim hadn’t even noticed, at first, maybe because the sensation was so foreign to him, so outside of his frame of reference, that his mind simply blanked it out most of the time. Spock had explained about the scientific aspects of mind-bonds, throwing terms like neuro-transmission and the Vulcan equivalent of mirror neurons into the mix, but Jim still couldn’t have described the feeling in human terms to someone who hadn’t experienced it themselves. The closest he came was ‘a very faint sound that you can only hear when you concentrate hard’. But that wasn’t quite true, either. He was aware of Spock’s presence like he was aware of a body part – he knew it was there, no doubt about it, but he didn’t exactly feel it unless there was pleasure or pain involved.

Like now. There was pain there, cutting and relentless, and a strange pull, something that called out to him and drew his steps in a certain direction. McCoy had scoffed at the idea, but that didn’t change the fact that Jim knew exactly where to find Spock.

_I do not wish for you to find me! Go!_

The shout – for that was what it was – came as loud and clear as if Spock had yelled into his ear. More pain washed along the bond, a body thrumming with fever and _needneedneed_.

“I don’t give a flying fuck what you want,” Jim hissed (he had no idea how to ‘think-speak’, and wasn’t going to bother trying). “You asshole. I thought you trusted me.”

_Go! I demand that you leave me in peace!_

The thought broke down after that, followed by fragments of NEED and WANT and MATE and an arousal so painful that Jim almost doubled over. His own dick was achingly hard, and had been for awhile. He knew he was getting close.

Up another hill, towards a rock formation that reminded him of a balled fist stretched out toward an indifferent orange sky. It provided a small strip of shade, and Jim leaned hard against the smooth rock, feeling sweat trickle down his back and his legs. _Damn you, Spock, damnyoudamnyoudamnyou-_

_GO AWAY_

The words were loud and clear in his mind, and the pull was getting stronger. Jim stumbled back to his feet, following that strange siren call that was so at odds with the angry demands to leave Spock was sending his way.

“I’m not going anywhere. You better deal with-“

And then Jim was knocked off his feet into the sand, so forcefully that he hardly registered the pain when his back connected with a sharp-edged rock. Spock had never been so loud in his mind, enveloping him in a flurry of MATE and NOW and MINEMINEMINE. His hands were all over Jim, tearing at his clothes, and when Jim glanced at his face, he saw nothing there but insanity. This was not Spock, and Jim began to struggle, panic flooding him as sharp and bright as the light of _K’shatri’s_ two suns.

“Spock, no – stop –”

But Spock did not stop.

As Jim told him, later, much later, there was no way he could have. A Vulcan in _plak tow_ cannot stop when he or she is presented with an available mate. A Vulcan in _plak tow_ cannot be gentle or caring. It is not in their nature.

Jim told this to Spock, multiple times. He said it in sickbay, when Spock refused to leave his side even for a second. He said it when he found Spock kneeling in front of him in their quarters, his hands green from the cuts demanded by the ancient ceremony of _plak’lak’tra_ – blood atonement. He said it when, in the weeks to come, Spock never fought, never argued, doing whatever Jim wanted without question. He said it again and again even as their relationship slowly returned to something approaching normalcy. At some point, he hoped, Spock might actually listen.

Jim began to understand why Vulcan society was matriarchal, why women held such power over men. What had happened in the sands of _K’shat’ri_ was going to stay with them, for better or for worse. It had changed their relationship into something more than human love, deeper even than the trust Spock had shown when he had given Jim his Name.

_Bondmates do not leave each other. Ever. They cannot._

It was a foreign, even unsettling idea, the human ideal being that there was a choice, always. Jim understood that he’d given up that choice when he had refused to turn around and leave Spock in the throes of _plak tow_. Bonding was for life, and literally so, as so many things concerning Vulcans were.

Bones hated it. Starfleet Command wanted to take his captaincy, and it was only eleven months of tiring legal battles later that they finally let it go. Jim’s family tried to be supportive, but he could see that they didn’t quite understand. How could they, when he didn’t quite understand it himself.

All of that didn’t really matter, however. As Jim knelt in front of T’Pau and the Vulcan Elders, Spock at his side dressed in the traditional robes of _koon-ut-kalifee_ , an unbidden image came to his mind: a puppy in a room full of silent, attentive cats, completely out of place and yet exactly where he wanted to be.

This thought was the reason why James Kirk nearly laughed out loud at his bonding ceremony – an unthinkable affront, as Spock informed him later.

He managed to control himself, of course. All that came out was a tiny chuckle, which made Sarek flinch ever so slightly and Selik raise a hand to his own mouth.

And if T’Pau was surprised at the image she saw in the strange human’s mind, no one would ever know.

Vulcans, after all, did not speak of such things.


End file.
